Trauma
by Vee-sempai
Summary: Harry's POV, reflecting on how he lost his idealism


  
I used to love looking at newborn children. The swaddled babies, cradled in their loving parents' arms, plump and redfaced and new. Whenever the Dursleys deigned to take me out with them, they were always the first thing these lonely, hungry eyes would search for. Children. Children who were safe. Their parents loved them. They would grow up in happiness. It was always a certainty for me, that those children would always exist. So I liked to look at them.  
It's not so anymore.  
I see the mounds of blankets in a man or woman's arms, and my hands begin to shake. A pain churns behind my breastbone. _Let it be dead!_ that voice in the back of my head screams, that frightened, childish voice. _Let something have gone wrong, let it have drowned, oh, God, let it be dead!_  
I can't see the newness anymore. I can't see the love in the parents' eyes. All I can see is the darkness, the fear, the circular threads that tie everything to the past, to the present, everything is the same as it used to be and anyone who can't see that is blind...  
All children are that bundle of fabric. All the parents are the one bearing it, the terror cold in their eyes, the pathetic whimpering in place of their adorations. It's the same, it's all the same, and if it isn't now it will be. He's back. Voldemort is back. The Muggles will be the first to go. Those redfaced little babies will be dead. Their parents will try to save them and they'll be dead. Just like my parents. They tried to save me and they died. But I lived. Because of Mom, I lived, and I can't let that go, I can't let my mom have died for nothing. I have to live. I have to live, even if I don't want to.  
And if I want to live, I fight. I have to fight. My existence is his weakness, and the only thing Voldemort can do to get his omnipotence back is to kill The Boy Who Lived. I was the failure. If he gets rid of the failure, he'll be perfect, and the world will be his.  
If that's even what he wants. No one ever bothered to tell me how this whole thing started. Does he want to rule the world? Does he want to kill everyone? What was the point of everything he did, before he went to kill Mom and Dad? Was there a point, at all?  
I know what he fights for now, even if nobody bothered to tell me that. He's fighting to live. He was dead, or almost dead, when that spell reflected on him. He was dead. And he wanted to live, and so he had to find a way to live. He's fighting so he can be alive again... He wanted the Philosopher's Stone to bring him back to life, to give him a body. He came through the diary to find out why he had lost. He took my blood and Peter's hand to give himself a body, so he could walk on his own two feet, so he could do things without making others do it for him.  
He just wanted to live again. And now he has that.   
And now, I have to fight so I can live. If he lives, I die. It's as simple as that. Even if I believed whatever it is he believes, if I wanted to follow him, I'd still have to die. I'm the black mark on his record. I have to die if he wants to live.  
But I have to live.  
And if I want to live, I've gotta take care of myself. I'm not safe anywhere, I'm not safe at Hogwarts, I'm not safe with Dumbledore. I'd be just as safe with a plucked chicken. Sure, Dumbledore's the only wizard he ever feared. That didn't stop him from possessing Quirrel and going after the Stone right under his nose. That didn't stop him Bart Crouch from impersonating Moody and enchanting the Cup! All the times my life has been in danger, I've been right there with Dumbledore! How can I feel safe when I've never been safe, not anywhere, not with anyone! If I want to be safe, I have to protect myself. God knows no one else is going to protect me. They'll try, I know they will. Ron and Hermione will do everything they can, but what can they do? Sirius would give his life for me, just like Mom did, but once he's gone, he's gone, and he's my only real protection anymore, if only as a diversion...  
If they get in the way, they'll die. It's certain.  
I don't know when it was I lost my faith. I don't even know what I had faith in, anymore. I know, first year, I fought for the ideal of saving everybody. I thought I could save the world. I thought I had the power within me to save the world. I think I still believed that until I saw Cedric die. I believed that everything would be fine, until I saw an innocent boy die, until I witnessed murder, until I knew I was all alone and no one would save me, I had to save myself. No one had saved Cedric. No one would save me.  
It must have then the disillusionment began. Fifth year. Sixth year. I had to fight to live. It was certain that someday I would fight people who I had once known. If I want to live, someday I'll have to kill Draco Malfoy's father. And maybe Draco Malfoy. God knows he drives me insane, and I wouldn't mind beating him senseless with a Quaffle every now and then. But I don't want to kill him. I don't want to fight him. I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to take his family away like mine was. I don't want to have to kill him just to stay alive for another few months. I don't want to kill anybody.  
I don't want to kill anybody. Is that too much to ask?   
I have to kill if I want to live. Voldemort has to kill if he wants to live. We're not too different, not anymore. Just struggling for a few more minutes of breathing. Living because we think we have to. We can't give up. We can't lose. He can't lose to his past mistakes. I can't lose to the one who killed my parents. Who killed Cedric. Who killed so many, and yet couldn't kill me. It'll continue until one of us dies.  
If I die, whatever his plan was will succeed. The Muggles and Mudbloods die first, that's all I know... sometimes I think that's all anyone knows. The world will go to Hell and everyone will die. Maybe.  
But if he dies... who knows? Who knows what the future holds...? I won't have to fight anymore... I won't have to fight for my life anymore, and all the world will be safe, the world who didn't do one damn thing while I was suffering. The world who swore to protect The Boy Who Lived and made him protect himself.   
My name means to destroy, to ravage.   
And the world underestimates how much I truly hate them. They forget what they've done to me. They forget how I've had to fight for them, how I've had to protect them to protect myself. I'm not safe, and they don't know, and if they did know they wouldn't care. They think that if I win, they'll all be safe. Who knows? Who really knows if I'll live up to my name?   
They have no way of knowing that I won't be worse.  
Those parents have to know that there's no such thing as a sure future. Those babies they cradle in their arms aren't assured happiness. They might die before they ever walk. They might be orphaned and left to fend for themselves. They might suffer every moment they draw breath. There's no way of knowing, ever.  
I can't look at those babies anymore. I can't look at them and feel reassured. That pang beneath my breastbone hurts even more. Each one of them looks like Voldemort. Each one of them could be just the same, just the same as him, just the same as me. Fighting for life.   
Doomed.


End file.
